Page 9 of Pride of Lyons

Stunned by that unexpected proposal, Honoria had sat watching as Lord Braeton planted Lord Danford a facer but could pay their didoes little mind. All she could focus on was counting the planks of the paneling on the wall, trying to comprehend the fact that his lordship had asked her to marry him. This was wrong. She could no more marry Lord Braeton than she could agree to Lord Danford’s proposition. Not that there was anything dishonorable about a proposal of marriage, but she simply could not accept it.

Honoria glanced up to find Lord Braeton and Lord Longford deep in conference on the other side of the room. Lord Danford was nowhere to be seen. The day that had started so wonderfully had turned into quite a nightmare. She wished with all her heart she could simply crawl back into her bed and forget everything that had happened today.

“What do you say, my dear?”

Honoria jumped as Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke in her ear. She’d forgotten the woman was in the room.

“Will you accept Lord Braeton’s proposal?”

Heart racing, Honoria shook her head. “I can’t accept him, ma’am.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon pulled her around to face the suddenly frightening veiled face. “What do you mean you can’t accept him? It is a perfectly suitable offer from a wealthy and influential gentleman. Any lady with a grain of sense would leap to say ‘yes.’”

“Yes, I understand that, ma’am. But…” How could she explain to this woman that she could not marry a perfect stranger? In a corner of her mind, she wished that the circumstances were different. Lord Braeton, in addition to being kind and considerate, was extremely handsome as well. Tall and blonde-haired, he could have been an Adonis, with broad shoulders and chest, and a waist that tapered neatly to give him a pleasing proportion. Despite her distress, she’d seen that much. Impeccably dressed, too, in expensive brown superfine. The perfect gentleman. But a stranger nonetheless.

“But what?” The figure before her had begun to shake, presumably with impatience. Or rage. “You’ve said your father is a vicar, so you are a gentlewoman and therefore an eligible parti.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon grasped her shoulder, and Honoria thought for a moment she would shake her like a terrier with a rat. “The rules of the game have changed, my dear. Lord Danford saw to that when he exposed you to ruin in my club. What you need is a husband to act as your protector, to scotch any scandal that may try to rear its head from this contretemps. And I assure you, it will. London loves nothing so much as gossip unless it’s scandal, and this will be tomorrow’s juiciest on-dit, mark my words.”

From what she knew of Society, Honoria couldn’t deny it. Neither could she let it distract her. “If I retire to the country, to my parents’ home, there will be no reason for the scandal to continue. Despite his words, I truly do not believe Lord Danford will try to defame me there.”

“Then you have no idea of the lengths to which the earl will go to have you, Miss Quinn.” The cold conviction in the woman’s voice made Honoria shiver. The memory of Lord Danford’s mouth on her, the obscene things he’d uttered in his smug voice resurfaced. Was she truly underestimating the earl’s determination?

Mrs. Dove-Lyon bent low until her head was near Honoria’s ear. “If you do not accept Lord Braeton’s offer, I can all but guarantee you will be in Lord Danford’s bed before the week is out.”

Honoria gasped, a sickening lurch hitting her stomach. The thought was hideous.

“If he makes it known that you were compromised by him—and he may be doing that very thing this minute—no one will help you. Neither ladies nor gentlemen of the ton have much sympathy for fallen women. Your family will have to denounce you or face ruin themselves. You will be destitute within a week, and on your back in Danford’s bed or another’s within a month.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Honoria tried to dispel that image. This could not be happening. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t deserve this to happen to her when she’d done nothing wrong.

“Or you can marry Lord Braeton and live a respectable, luxurious life with a husband and children to comfort you.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice had become softer, soothing. Manipulative.

Summoning all her strength, Honoria raised her chin to stare at the black-veiled woman before her. “Either way, ma’am, I will, as you say, be on my back in a man’s bed.” Marriage inevitably brought a demand for a wife’s duties. Not distasteful perhaps with a gentleman of her choice, but this marriage would not be of her choosing.

“But in that case, when sanctioned by marriage, quite an appropriate turn of events.” The woman cocked her head. “Do you dread a man’s touch, Miss Quinn? I assure you it is not as bad as you might believe.” Her voice took on a wistful tone. “I suspect you will come to enjoy it with such a man as Lord Braeton.”

Again, memory of Lord Danford’s unwanted kisses and loathsome touch sent a shiver through Honoria. “He is a stranger to me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. How is it right that I…I submit to a man I do not know just because we are legally wed?”

The woman beside her shrugged. “Arranged marriages have been the usual way of things for centuries, Miss Quinn. Women have married men they have known no longer than you have his lordship there.” A throaty chuckle emerged from the veiled face. “I doubt you will have much to complain of if you take Lord Braeton to your bed.”

Honoria glanced over at Lord Braeton again. A shiver of a different kind slithered down her spine. The gentleman was extremely pleasing to the eyes. It might not, after all, be unpleasant to have this man as her husband, at least not for her. But what about his sensibilities? “Won’t he be displeased at having to marry a woman he doesn’t know?”

The mere sound of the words was ludicrous. She peered at Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Even if he were to do it, he would resent me all my life for being forced to marry me.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged. “No one is forcing Lord Braeton to marry you. He’s offered for you of his own volition. Because he’s a man of honor who saw a woman in need. Do you think he would have asked you to marry him if he minded that you are strangers? Especially when he could have simply paid a fee and had me find you another gentleman for your husband.”

Startled, Honoria jerked her gaze over to Lord Braeton. He could have avoided marrying her and hadn’t? That brought up the curious question of why he hadn’t availed himself of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services. She would have loved to know that answer before she gave her own. Might he have some actual interest in her? And was that good or bad?

A wave of her hand, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon dismissed Honoria’s ongoing troubles. “There’s nothing new about a titled gentleman marrying a woman they don’t know. Arranged marriages are still quite common, although they are usually done for position or money.” Her voice took on a peculiar note. “Marrying for honor is perhaps nobler, don’t you think? That might make up for any misgivings his lordship might have about marrying you.” The businesswoman’s voice returned. “In any case, you need to agree to his offer, Miss Quinn. For your own good.”

She glanced again at Lord Braeton, the stern look on his face as he spoke with his friend making her heart pound. He was not a man she wished to anger. Despite Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s protestations, Honoria believed that, should she marry Lord Braeton, she’d be miserable one way or another for the rest of her life. Time to make her escape. “I need a breath of air, ma’am.” Honoria rose and headed swiftly for the door. “I will return momentarily.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s hand shot out and grasped her upper arm. “You would be wise to wait quietly, Miss Quinn. Demetrius has dealt with recalcitrant women before and I warn you, his tactics are the same with ladies as they are with unruly gentlemen.”

Frowning, Honoria tried to wrest her arm out of the woman’s grip. She had to get away before—

“Miss Quinn, I beg your pardon for leaving you so long unattended.” Lord Breaton appeared at her side, contrition in every line of his body.

Drat. Now she would have to stay and refuse the man to his face.